Am I simply a sad person? Am I depressed? Is my spirit as dark and as dead as the Giants' offense, as limp and as wobbly as an Eli Manning pass?
I often feel very much alone. It's funny because in those moments when I feel…
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When I think about how I spent my time this weekend — eating and drinking with friends, listening to music, watching the Giants beat the Cowboys to gain sole possession of first place in the NFC East — I really have no complaints. These are all great things. Why then, when you ask me how my weekend was, do I sigh and say: "It was okay, I guess"?
A 1978 Philip K. Dick speech. It's new to me—and even if you've read it before, it's worth revisiting.
I almost didn't link to this essay, but the points it makes have been churning around my brain for days now. I suspect you'll find it thought provoking, too.
This is low even for Sony. Freedom to Tinker goes deep geek on Sony's XCP and rips 'em a new one.
"Is there someone in your living room, Stephen? I hear voices in there."
I like it when my mom visits me. Something about it makes me feel very adult. I get to ask her if she wants anything to drink, I get to show her my new Jonathan Adler placemats, I get to introduce her to the hi-fi. Stuff like that. I realize that I'm not so very young anymore, but I'm still young enough to stop and marvel at exactly how old I am. Every now and then I'll just be walking down the street and:
"Holy crap,
I'm
twenty-eight
years old.
I'm
an adult."…
If you're in search of a great read, full of heart and in love with the way language can sing, Neil Gaiman's Anansi Boys is the book you've been looking for.
Neil Gaiman wrote Sandman, the greatest comic ever, not to mention Stardust, the closest thing to a fairy tale written in the last 20 years—or since Peter Beagle's The Last Unicorn at any rate.
Here's an excerpt. Don't fight it. You'll love it.